


Wheel of Westeros Book Six: Rise of Asha Part Two

by Thrafrau (annmcbee)



Series: Wheel of Westeros [12]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annmcbee/pseuds/Thrafrau
Summary: Asha celebrates success as a trader after coming out of a spell cast by her wicked uncle Euron. Theon visits the Red Temple in Volantis in disguise and meets Queen Daenerys with an offer on Asha's behalf. Euron casts his web of lies in an effort to catch four very powerful women. Victarion considers what to do about Dany, as darkness descends upon him.
Relationships: Asha Greyjoy/Original Male Character(s), Euron Greyjoy/Cersei Lannister, Long Haul Jon/Daenerys, Victarion Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Wheel of Westeros [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1458574
Kudos: 8





	Wheel of Westeros Book Six: Rise of Asha Part Two

**_The Wheel of Westeros_ **

**Book Six: Rise of Asha Part Two**

_Disclaimer:_

_This fan fiction is meant neither to be a continuation of George R. R. Martin’s_ A Song of Ice and Fire _series, nor a revision of seasons 6-8 of the HBO series,_ Game of Thrones _. It is meant to stand alone, independent of those works, and can be read alone by those who have not seen the TV series or read the books. Having said that, this work will borrow from not only_ Game of Thrones _and_ A Song of Ice and Fire, _but from multiple other works of film, television, music and literature. Please see footnotes for references, and feel free to point out any I’ve forgotten._

Chapter 1: Asha

Asha stood among her men, the firelight dancing across her face, and held a cup full of rum high in the air. They had gifted her a new flame-red doublet of samite and sinfully soft boiled leather breeches, with boots to match, and a shiny gilded steel breastplate with the kraken painted in red. She wore it with pride along with the woolen cap knitted to look like a kraken. They had bought it all with her money, of course, but that didn’t matter to Asha. “To you, my brothers,” she shouted out. “Without whom I would be lost! May your women grow fat and your pockets grow deep, and may they be filled as you fart in your sleep!” The men roared with laughter and hollered in salute. _To Asha! To Asha!_

Their new companion, Dandelion, ordered the minstrels from the city who had come out to strike up a tune. Many visitors from the city wandered to their camp at night to trade wares and services for a bit of gold or just for the Bane, which was fetching a great price due to its potency and dearth. This night brought a piper and handsome youth with a harp – neither of whom lacked talent. Dandelion,[1] in his red woolen robe, paired now with the duster typically worn by his new Ironborn friends, was the best singer and lute-player Asha had ever heard. The music seemed to fill and overtake him, and it was if he made love to his lute. He sweated and strained as the notes lifted from his throat to the cool air and pierced the starry sky.

_Warrior Queen, forged in steel_

_Tempered in the flames of war_

_Fierce and free, fearless conqueror_

_Goddess of the metal storm_

_Warrior Queen_

_She is the throat of the lion_

_She is the teeth of defiance_

_Bared against the skeins of fate_

_She is the wings of the raven_

_Against the winds of enslavement_

_On the fields she stands alone_

_She’s come to claim the throne… **[2]**_

If it weren’t so far from the sea, Asha considered Norvos might be a great place to stay – at least during summer time. It was no wonder Prince Doran Martell’s estranged wife stayed there. The woods in which Asha and her crewmen camped was one of many thick forests of oak, birch and pine separated from cozy walled villages by acres of green rolling hills. There were splashes of yellow and red where some trees had started to turn, and a fresh earthy smell of autumn mingled with the smell of their fires in the crisp night. Tris Botley eyed Dandelion carefully as he performed, suspicious and probably jealous of the red priest, but when Asha reached out to give his shoulder a squeeze, he smiled. He wanted her, she knew, but for now, he would be happy to drink by her side – especially since Asha had sent her lover Qarl the Maid to the Axe in the north.

It had been Tris’s idea to keep the ships at the port of the Axe, and buy more time among the Norvosi by helping thwart Ibbenese who thought to claim the area for themselves. In the meantime, her cousin Dagon and a crew of his own were experimenting with growing the fungus from which the Bane came in Lorath, whose thin soil and lack of sun seemed to be what the spores preferred. The Lorathi didn’t have much, but this could change their fate, Asha had promised their leaders. Once they tried the Bane, they believed her. A good thing, because the supply was running out, and if Asha hadn’t had the idea to trade some for a surplus of rare ales and meads from some brewers they’d come across, they would soon run out. Trading for the brewers was working out fine, but the Bane was going to make them rich indeed. Just a sprinkle of the powder in warm water or, better still, in _nahsa_ , the fermented milk that the Norvosi loved so much, gave a drinker light, warm, happy feelings that lasted longer than with wine or rum. When Asha took a little, she suddenly had a knack for rhyming, and she would entertain her men and her ladies with silly poetry she made up on the fly. In the quantity that Euron had once given her and her brother Theon, it gave one visions of their greatest fears and desires, even of the future.

One of these for Asha had involved a pact with the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen, and Dandelion had suggested that it meant she would defeat her uncle Euron and become a powerful queen herself. Asha had escaped her vile uncle with a mind to becoming a trader in the East with Theon, Tris and Qarl as partners, but she missed the Iron Islands. Their soil, incidentally, would be good for propagating the Bane too – and she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t desire to be queen. Dandelion told her he had seen it in the flames, that it was her destiny. Asha didn’t really believe much of the rubbish he talked about his red god, but she did appreciate his beautiful brown skin, like tea with milk, his plump, sweet lips, and his huge eyes – like an ox’s eyes. She appreciated his stiff pretty cock too, and his impossibly long and agile tongue. Even the bizarre tattoo of purple flames over his eyes like a visor, enhanced him. When he finished singing, she planted a hard kiss on his cheek in full view of her men. They knew as well as she did that she owed him her life.

It had started with headaches well before their ships had reached Essos. Thankfully, Euron hadn’t pursued them, but they didn’t need to ask why for long. Not long after the headaches began, Asha had begun to have horrifying nightmares, worse ones than she had ever known, night after night. In most of them, a leviathan rose from the sea, massive and grey with seemingly thousands of teeth, and swallowed her whole. Once inside its hot belly, she heard Euron’s voice telling her to come home and that if she promised to wed him, he would command the monster to spit her out. Other times, she dreamed of the men Stannis Baratheon and his lot had burned in the North in Westeros – their screams and pleas as the flames consumed them. The smell of burning flesh and burning hair. Sometimes it was she who was burning, tied to a stake with the flames licking her between the legs. It was every night with these terrors, and they seemed so real, it became difficult to know when she was awake and when she was asleep. In the daytime, her hands most often would shake, so badly that she could not even hold her axe.

As they had approached Essos, she was certain that the Red God was trying to possess her, entering her body through this port or that. She stuffed rags in her ears, nose, cunt and arsehole, which deeply disturbed the men – especially Qarl, who couldn’t comfort her away from her raving no matter what he said. She determined Rh’llor was entering her somewhere else, somewhere hidden maybe, and she had shaved her own head bald in an effort to locate the valve. Asha began to think the dreams were telling her what to do – that they would fail and die if she didn’t give herself to the leviathan. When the ships were tossed by storms, she insisted it was she who had doomed them, and tried twice to throw herself into the sea as a sacrifice to the Drowned God, but Qarl had stopped her.[3] They arrived in Lorath safely, but Asha’s madness grew only worse. She decided the left nipple was the culprit, and while the Lorathi maester she had threatened refused to cut it off, he did sew the hole shut for her when she did it herself. She showed the severed nipple to Qarl when it was done. _I found it! Everything is going to be all right_ , she had said.[4] Qarl had turned very pale, and Asha knew it was likely then that he had first considered putting her out of her misery. Had Tris not found and appealed to Dandelion, who happened to be ministering to locals at that time, Qarl would have strangled her out of mercy.

Now Asha was perfectly well, but business had moved faster than she and Tris had imagined. They decided, with supplies running low and their business at a peak, to make contact with Daenerys Targaryen, who had taken Volantis. She was there now, about to “give herself to Rh’llor” as Dandelion put it, at the Red Temple. It was complicated however, because her uncle Victarion and his fleet were in the city too. Dandelion believed that they were either lovers or even married, in secret. Asha and her crew had decided they would keep their identities secret to avoid alerting Euron, but Victarion would certainly blow their cover.

“I’ve seen their bodies entwined in the flames, and his love for her twists like a knife in a wound,” Dandelion said to Asha as they sat with Theon by the fire. “We cannot risk his seeing you, for he will want the Queen’s favor all to himself.”

“Victarion knows all of us,” Asha said. “Do you mean to go by yourself?”

“Victarion knows _the prince_ as he was, only, my princess.”

Asha looked at Theon, whose eyes grew wide. As captive of the Bastard of Bolton at Winterfell, Theon had suffered horrors that, even in her madness, Asha couldn’t have imagined. When she finally rescued him, he had gone from a handsome, strong youth, to a toothless skeleton, full of holes and missing pieces too numerous to count. He had aged thirty years it seemed, his hair having gone completely white. It was true that Victarion might not recognize him if he saw him.

“I will go with the prince only, bringing with us the strongest batch to share with the Queen. Once she has tasted the Bane we will make our proposal,” Dandelion said.

“I don’t know…” Asha said.

“It’s all right, boss,” Theon said, calling her as she had instructed to avoid suspicion. “I will go and do as we practiced. I’m not afraid.”

Asha melted. Of course, he was terrified, but he would do it for _her_. Theon had gained some weight back, but not much. It seemed like she had to convince him he deserved to eat before he ever would. Then he would eat only what everyone else left over. Once Asha caught him stabbing himself in the ankle with a nail he had found, twirling the tip into his flesh so the blood trickled down. It broke her heart. She hoped this mission would help him see himself as she saw him, as her _brother_ and her _prince_ , because his new clothes and shiny new armor hadn’t convinced him, any more than did the chest full of gold he slept next to at night.

“We must not risk your pact with the Dragon Queen,” Dandelion said. “If you do not fulfill your destiny, then the boy Edric’s death will have been in vain.”  
Asha sighed heavily. Of course, he knew _that_ would convince her. It had been Tris who stopped Qarl from putting a pillow over her face while she slept, she knew. He found Dandelion in the square of a little village called The Glen, serenading local farmers’ daughters with songs praising the Lord of Light. Tris had confronted him, saying his red god had driven his captain and princess mad, and what was he going to do about it. It was a spell no doubt, cast by Euron. Asha would never go mad at sea – she was Ironborn, and a Greyjoy. Immediately, Dandelion had declared that she must be spared and the spell reversed, but only a sacrifice to Rh’llor would do. They found the bastard son of dead King Robert Baratheon, hidden in a manse not far from Norvos, and paid every bit of gold they had left to take him away. Edric Storm was a beautiful black-haired, blue-eyed boy of fourteen – innocent and sweet as a day lily. Asha could still hear his screams and pleas sometimes in the night, so plaintive and pathetic they were. He had looked every one of her crew in the face and begged for help as the flames rose around him, but no one had heeded. The next morning, Asha had awakened with her headache gone, along with the horrors that had haunted her mind for so many weeks. Afterward, Tris and Asha had said the words that made them followers of Rh’llor, though Asha hadn’t fully meant them. Qarl refused to say them at all, and later, when she had gotten him alone, she had put a knife to his throat. _You were suffering_ , he pleaded. _I couldn’t stand it any longer!_ She hadn’t killed him, just fucked him one last time before sending him away.

Asha thanked Theon warmly and hugged him. “I know you won’t let me down,” she said. “Go now and prepare. You must leave tomorrow if you’re going to make it on time.”

When he bowed and walked away, Asha took Dandelion aside and invited him to walk with her in the woods awhile. When they were far enough that the firelight grew dim and the music was barely audible, Asha said, “I can’t help but think we must warn Victarion…it’s hard on my conscience.” If Euron had cast a spell on her, he could do the same to her less horrid uncle. He had already been suspicious that something was going on when Victarion neither returned to Pyke nor died as he was probably supposed to do.

“We cannot hide behind small mercies,[5]” Dandelion said.

“That’s only the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard you say…and that means something.”

“I have seen you fighting beside a dragon,” Dandelion said, clutching her at the hips and pulling her to him. “You are a daughter of fire…look into the flames and you’ll see…”

Asha didn’t bother telling him to stifle it. She unbuckled her breastplate and cast it aside, then opened her doublet and brought his face to her breasts, feeling his lips and tongue searching and mauling for a few minutes before bringing his face to hers and kissing him with savage desire. They stripped down and lay at the roots of a massive pine tree, its needles serving as a delightfully soft bed, and made love like beasts to the soft sounds of a harp carrying over the branches, and the owls hooting approval.

Chapter 2: Theon

Queen Daenerys stood on the dais at the front of the enormous Temple of the Lord of Light along with Benerro the high priest, Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom, and Kinvara, high priestess of the temple at Braavos. Benerro was a frightful looking man, with a body like a long stick, a shaven head that was white as milk, and his whole face tattooed to look like embers in a fire. Despite how slight he was, his voice boomed mightily throughout the enormous temple, as he performed a call-and-response ritual to bless his followers. When Theon had first seen the temple, it seemed so huge it might have been mountain. Inside, the different minerals that made up the walls blended together in a way that made it look like a giant flame – blue, then transparent crimson, then blinding yellow.

Dandelion had made sure Theon understood the gravity of this occasion. Benerro, he said, was to step down as High Priest and pass his light onto a new servant of Rh’llor, a changeover that happened hardly even once in a lifetime. Theon and Dandelion had gotten to stand at the very front, near to the dais along with all the priests and priestesses and their special guests. It was a tremendous honor, especially in this city. Dandelion wore a cloak of dark red, lined inside with purple silk, and a necklace of bright amethysts. He had taken his hair out of the bun he usually donned and combed it out so that it flowed down his back in silky black curls that shone. Theon wore the new red doublet and reddish-brown breeches Asha had given him, and a grey hooded cloak. There wasn’t much that could be done with his looks, but he had at least combed and washed his white hair and tied it back, and he had cleaned what was left of his teeth the best he could with a clump of salt and soda on the end of his finger. Dandelion had used ink to draw over the squid tattoo Euron had made on his face, so it looked like the same flames all slaves of Rh’llor had on their faces.

About Daenerys Targaryen’s beauty, hardly enough could be said. She wore a headdress consisting of a sort of cap, embroidered with swirls of gold thread on black velvet, atop which two large fans of red-dyed lace jutted out from either side like elephant ears, and from those dangled long strands of obsidian and agate beads that hung past her shoulders. It must have been heavy, but the Queen stood very straight. Her lips were painted blood red, and soft flames in green, gold, cream, red and dark grey had been brushed in over her eyelids. Her gown consisted of a gleaming corset-like breastplate of red and golden steel that left most of her chest completely bare – down to where her nipples must have been. The gown beneath was heavy black silk that went down to her feet, the slits in the side so wide that it seemed almost fashioned after a loincloth.

The curves of her body brought tears to Theon’s eyes, remembering the way a woman’s curves had once affected him – back when he was still an intact man. The sleeves of the Queen’s gown were black silk embroidered with red and gold dragons. They were loose at the shoulder but then cinched tight at the elbow by a black leather sleeve that went down to her wrists. The gold and ruby bracelets she wore extended in chains of gold across her hands and ended in sharp points decked with garnets at the tips of her fingers. She shone, everywhere. Her boots were black leather polished shiny with heels so high Theon didn’t see how she could walk in them. When she turned, he could see the breastplate part of the gown was open in the back, tied together with two single strings of braided silk thread. The bare skin there was a ruin of long, deep, red scars, like nothing Theon had ever seen. He began to weep quietly.

“I Benerro, First Servant of the Lord of Light, will serve my ultimate purpose this day, and therefore I do pass my torch of wisdom to Kinvara of Braavos. May she serve him well in these times of doom and darkness. Bless Kinvara, First Servant of the Lord of Light,” the red priest bellowed, to which the congregation responded, _May she be a light for a world in darkness…_

“Lord of Light look down upon us!”

_Lord of Light, defend us…_

“Lord of Light, protect us in the darkness!”

_Lord of Light, shine your face upon us…_

Benerro turned to Daenerys and bid her kneel. She did so gracefully, despite her ungainly raiment.

“Servants, behold this woman, your queen. She has come to cleanse the world and lead the West out of darkness. No longer will our faith rely on slavery to fill our temples, for there will be no need. I hereby commit the service of the Fiery Hand to Daenerys of House Targaryen, that she may use them in the glory that will be the new world.”

A murmur rocked the temple. Dandelion clutched Theon’s arm and looked at him as if to say, _see…I told you!_ The Fiery Hand was an army of slaves who defended the Red Temple wearing ornate armor shaped to look like flames over bright orange robes. Daenerys’s lips hung open for half of a second, then she said, “I am grateful, Lord Benerro, for this most appreciated and unexpected endowment. I hope I may prove deserving of this honor.”

“You will, mighty queen…you will,” Benerro said.

A cheer went up in the crowd. Theon looked around as it began to die down, and spied a familiar face just twenty feet away from where he and Dandelion stood. Standing next to a red priest with skin like ebony and hair white as foam, was unmistakably Victarion Greyjoy. He wore a doublet covered in a huge kraken embroidered in gold thread, and a new cloak of amber-colored samite besides. The self-satisfied smile he wore told Theon he was almost certainly husband to Daenerys…this victory must have been his victory too. Theon quietly alerted Dandelion, who pulled the hood of his cloak down further around Theon’s face, just in case.

“And now,” Benerro said when the crown grew quiet. “Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains, as I place my hand upon you, say the words.”

Daenerys tilted her head back for the priest to touch her forehead, and closing her eyes, she spoke in a voice that was smooth and sweet but strong:

“Lead me from the dark, O my Lord. Fill my heart with fire, so I may walk your shining path. Rh’llor you are the light in my eyes, the fire in my heart, the heat in my loins. Yours is the sun that warms my days, yours the stars that guard me in the dark of night…” Then the crowd spoke along with her as she said, “ _Lord of Light defend us. The night is dark and full of terrors. Lord of Light, protect us_ …”[6]

“Welcome to the light, Daenerys,” Benerro said.

Then, without warning, the priest seemed to burn silently from the inside, and he suddenly dissipated into so many particles of ash that blew away in a gentle wind.

An uproar of fervor and applause rocked the temple. Theon was crying openly. Dandelion was crying. Many in the temple were crying. Theon looked around for Victarion, but he wasn’t where he had been. His dark-skinned priest stood alone, also in tears. Once composure returned, many lined up to either congratulate and bless the new high priestess, or speak to the Queen. Theon and Dandelion waited to greet Daenerys behind another beautiful red-robed priestess, possibly the most beautiful woman in the whole temple, which would put her high in the running for most beautiful woman worldwide.[7] Her hair was a bright crimson, and so were her eyes. She wore a choker around her neck with a giant ruby that glowed.

“That’s Melisandre of Asshai, one of the oldest of the slaves of Rh’llor, and one of the most powerful,” Dandelion said in Theon’s ear.

The red woman spoke for some time to the Queen, who seemed to respond with interest. When she was done, Melisandre walked quickly past, nodding and saying _Valar Morghulis_. For a moment after Dandelion answered _Valar Dohaeris_ , her eyes lingered on Theon’s face.

Theon was almost too nervous to speak when they came before Queen Daenerys. They kneeled before her, and Dandelion said, “Exquisite Queen, I am Dandelion of Norvos, and humbly at your service.”

Theon thought she looked like a sorceress herself, and yet the corners of her regal mouth turned up a bit. She seemed a little amused.

“ _Exquisite_ …my goodness…” She held out her bejeweled hand, the tips of her fingers like talons. Dandelion reached out to hold it and kiss it.

“Rise friends,” she said. Theon stood along with Dandelion and for the first time noted that the Queen was very small. “You do me honor, my lord. I’ve heard from Lord Moqorro of your talents. I would invite you to attend me in the Black Palace, so I might hear your music myself.”

“How glorious, I would be most honored indeed,” Dandelion said. “Your beauty has me writing a new song in my head as we speak.”

“Well I just don’t know if I believe that, my lord!”

“It starts with a four measure and the line _if I should die this very moment I wouldn’t fear,_ but that’s all I have.”

“I should hate to ruin your concentration.”

“Not to worry my queen…I have it. _Because I’ve never know completeness like being here_ …[8]and then something not quite appropriate in such public company.”

_Dandelion has lost his mind_ , Theon thought. This was a good way to get oneself roasted alive by dragon fire. However, the Queen just smiled again and tilted a majestic chin in their direction.

“But I’ve heard that nothing done in service of the Lord of Light can ever be inappropriate,” she said.

She and Dandelion laughed together. _Must be a joke I’ve not been let in on._ He had tried to avoid really understanding this religion. However, he didn’t care much for the Drowned God either…all gods had abandoned him, so what did it matter?

“Who is your guest if I may ask?” Daenerys asked.

Theon and Asha had rehearsed this. He kept his eyes lowered as he spoke. “I am Branrick of Westeros, a merchant of cures and tonics, and Dandelion has been my spiritual counselor as a new slave of the Lord. I come to the East, with my daughter Yara, in hopes of aiding your grace in relieving the economic strain caused by the end of slavery.”

“Slavery has not ended yet, Branrick…”

“No, but it will be. Dandelion has told me of your greatness, that you are meant to cleanse the world.”

“I do intend to cleanse slavery from this world, Branrick. But what can a merchant of cures and tonics do for me?”

“Allow me to attend along with Lord Dandelion, and I would be pleased to show you…”

For a moment, a quizzical look came over her face. She turned her head slightly, as if to look him over from a different angle. Theon remembered with horror that he was supposed to do an accent, but now he couldn’t remember if he’d done it correctly. If the Queen was married to or in love with Victarion, she would know the brogue of an Ironborn. _Well at least dying by dragon fire will be quick_. It was better than he deserved. Then suddenly the Queen smiled again.

“You will be most welcome,” she said. Her purple eyes glittered like the sun on the sea.

Chapter 3: Euron

_Dear Lady of Lannister, Queen Regent whom I love,_

_I regret humbly that I’ve been too occupied to visit you again as soon as I’d hoped. I've got to attend to business, my sweet. You miss me do you not? I don't wish to be away from you, either. You know how I feel about you. I depend on you. I should be lost without you. Never forget that. How much I need you. I will soon be there to hold you, worry not. When you are close to me, I feel alive…powerful, like the lion and the kraken. I only wish every lord could know what it is like to be loved by you. That every woman everywhere highborn or low... had a man who loves her as I love you. Remember when I held you close, and we watched my new ships sail into Blackwater Bay together? It is times like that, when I know I am a lucky man. Touching a woman who wants me and needs me. You see, I would be half mad if it weren’t for you…it is only you that keeps me whole. **[9]**_

_Together soon…the letter to Myrcella is enclosed. You would be wise to hide this one, but keep it close to your heart if that is your desire. I would recommend leaving Myrcella’s letter sealed…it is the same letter I showed you, but I have dusted it with a potion that is meant to make one open to suggestion. It will not harm her…it will make her more compliant, that’s all. Use that knowledge as you will._

_Your most loving and devoted,_

_Euron_

_Dearest Myrcella,_

_I wanted to write and let you know that I am thinking about you, and looking forward to seeing you again._

_I know that you are angry, sweet child. So momma sent away your best fellow, I hear. I'd say she punished you for her sins, and you resent that, and you should resent it. But your future king has a little advice for you. You shouldn't damn her. Don't judge her. Just forgive her for she only thinks she is doing what is best for you._

_I pray for your mother, and. I'm here to help her. We all err, lovely girl. You and I have, have we not? At least we try to admit it. But your mother, she does not. Every woman carries a bit of hell with her. Your father Jaime, too. Every man... Every man must go through a hell to reach his paradise._

_Do know what paradise is? Salvation. Your mother is not happy. Your daddy is not happy. And I know that you are not happy. But I can make you happy. In fact, I think I may have found a companion, a companion for that long walk to the light. **[10]**_

_Will you join me in the light, my dear? For I bring all the greatness our families were meant for, but I will not take you if you do not desire it. Think on it at least, my love._

_Until we see each other again,_

_Euron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands_

_Dear Queen Daenerys, Mother of Dragons,_

_I write to you regarding my brother, Victarion Greyjoy, with great concern for your well-being. I understand that your responsibilities keep you in the East, and I bear the profoundest respect for your convictions. You are a true queen – one who accepts nothing less than the standards you have set for your rule and your people. Some would call it hopeless because it isn’t easily done, but not you. You have sacrificed much to relieve your followers of bondage, more than any ruler should expect. One day, the cities of Essos shall equate your name with freedom._

_That is why I would find it most tragic if a man like my brother, brutish and stupid as he is, might stand in the way of your greatness. That you trust him to aid you in your reforms speaks to your gentle and generous nature. But be aware that generosity can be misplaced, and one need only look at Cersei Lannister to know how incompetence can destroy a kingdom._

_Further, I know that Victarion has in his possession a powerful weapon, a dragon-binding horn. I sent him to offer it to you, and it seems you must have it, for your successes show that your dragons have been doing your bidding. Of course, you are wise enough and capable as a leader without dragons, but I do hope you are keeping the horn in YOUR possession. Victarion may not be wise and capable in the same way you are, and I’d truly regret my part in sending him to you if he were to make some terrible mistake._

_I look forward to meeting you, my queen, though I recognize I still need to gain your trust. In my experience, the surest way to a woman’s heart is with a gift – a priceless gift. I will expect no reciprocation of my affection until I have that for you. **[11]**_

_Sincerely,_

_Euron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands_

_Dear Lady of Winterfell and the Vale,_

_You are unacquainted with me, though I do hope that may change in the near future. I am the uncle of Theon Greyjoy, once your father’s ward, and I have recently gained the Seastone Chair at my home of Pyke in the Iron Islands. Like your late great brother, young Robb Stark, I have rejected the rule of King’s Landing and declare the Iron Islands independent. I understand that your brother’s rule ended prematurely and that you lost your home – both due to the most underhanded and loathsome betrayals. Now Roose Bolton has taken your rightful home, and my nephew lives – yes! He lives, and I believe he is responsible for the death of my father, as he is responsible for the death of two of your brothers. I know the outrage you must feel, and I wanted to offer you my friendship and service._

_Currently, I am arranging for a marriage to the Lannister Queen, as a truce offering in the war for our independence. I am a man of reason and know that compromise is the key to peaceful rule. With my leverage, I hope to convince the Queen to remove the Boltons and restore you to your ancestral home of Winterfell. No one in the realm truly believes that you had anything to do with Joffrey Baratheon’s death, and Myrcella is no exception. I have heard her say that she actually quite misses and admires you. If I could count the times the young Queen has said she wished she had hair like Lady Sansa, that she was tall like Lady Sansa, that she was as graceful as Lady Sansa, that she could sing like Lady Sansa. If her grace is to be believed, you are the one who should be queen._

_Are you the one who should be queen?_

_Forgive me, the hour is late, and I have been at sea too long._

_I hope that we may strike up a friendship, if not an allegiance. I want you to know that whatever I can do, I will, if I can be of service to you. That is all._

_Sincerely,_

_Euron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands_

_Dear Lady Stoneheart,_

_Mysterious Lady, it seems we are at an impasse. But there is no need for us to fight, don’t you see? We are the same. We want death to those who have wronged us, and power over those who would if they could. What would you say if I were to offer you, not only the head of my vile nephew and the Kingslayer…but that of Roose Bolton, and of Cersei Lannister? Are you a creature of high ideals? Are you able to see the greater picture, now that you have seen death? Your daughter lives, and belongs in Winterfell. But where do you belong? At Riverrun? Or is there a seat more worthy of the terror you strike in those who follow you? You are a being after my own heart, but you have no idea of my power. I have the power to divine the location of your younger daughter. I have the power to see the future and make it happen. I see Lady Arya at Winterfell, drinking a dram of Bolton’s blood. Where Myrcella sits I see Lady Sansa. Where am I, you ask? Look into the flames. Listen to the trees, if you prefer. Know your dark heart’s desire. Do you see the face in the full moon? That face is me, and you are the stars. We are equals in hate – let us be equals in power. By my hand, your daughter will be queen._

_Euron Greyjoy_

Chapter 4: Victarion

The whore had hair of two colors – reddish-brown on one side of her head and stark white on the other. When he looked at the left of her, she reminded him of Dany. When he looked at her right side, she reminded him of his wife, Betha, who he had beaten to death years past for dishonoring him with his brother Euron. Head on, the whore wore a sly smile, and her brown eyes were warm, so Victarion did his best to face her, for all the good it did. It seemed nothing could rid him of these headaches, like an axe buried in his brain, and they grew worse by the day.

“Aeron could piss eight feet before eight years. I saw it with my own eyes,” he told the woman, who knelt before him. She rested an elbow on his thigh and her chin in his hand, checking to see the progress of his cock every now and then, like a cook waiting for a pot to boil. “Urrigon tried to best him but never came close. He thought guzzling ale would help but it only made him sick, God help him. He did learn to take his ale though, and he took it well.”

Victarion’s little brother Urrigon had died of an infection in his youth, having lost fingers playing the old axe-throwing game the Ironborn called the “finger-dance.” He and Aeron Damphair, the next youngest of the Greyjoy sons, had been thick as thieves in those days. Now Aeron was dead too at Euron’s hand, for the reason that he had supported Victarion for the Seastone Chair instead. Victarion had been thinking more and more about his little brothers lately. He kept having a nightmare in which he heard them crying – not a womanish sob necessarily, but a plaintive expression of pain, faint but gut-wrenching. The sound came from a cellar at Pyke, the doors rusty and creaking. He dreamt of walking toward it, a dagger in hand, then turning back and leaving the sound behind. He realized it was no dream now, but a memory – a memory of Euron, and of his little brothers, crying out for protection they never received.

“I protected them as I could. I did. They never did fear me, I tell you. My brothers could rely upon me when needed. Against a foe. They cannot hold me otherwise,” he said, as the whore nodded. “Aeron could sing like a seabird. I mean actually, the sound, was of a seabird. Like a seabird. Kind of woeful. Wailing. It echoed. Maybe the Drowned God has such a voice…no?”

He was babbling now, taking up the whore’s time, which cost money – Dany’s money. The woman turned her head a moment, and he reached over, clasped her by the skull and turned it back so that she faced him head on again. If he thought about Dany, or about Betha, it was over. It was bad enough that he kept having nightmares about the two of them, inseparable. Sometimes it was Dany, walking down the stairs of her throne room, the same grace and poise, but the face was of Betha’s corpse, rotten and gray, maggots wiggling out of the nostrils and into the eyes. The dragon headdress becoming a kraken with tentacles made of giant worms. Other times, he dreamt of killing Betha, of his fist shattering her nose and jaw, her skull caving in. As he delivered the last blow, sobbing, her face turned into Dany’s face – the plump, heart-shaped lips split and bleeding, the sweet dimpled chin collapsed, the purple eyes fluttering in death – and he awoke in tears, screaming, his head pounding.

After he’d gotten her the ruby kraken earrings, she had turned around and had him a new cloak made, _damn her_. It was twice as luxurious as his old long gold cloak, heavy with ornate embroidery and yet somehow lighter and easier to wear. He supposed if he had her a new gown made, she’d get him a new pair of boots. So he’d commissioned the building of three brand new ships. They were being built secretly, in Lorath, by a boat smith who swore to make them faster than any other ships on the sea.

“Have her match that,” Victarion said as the woman fondled his cock bravely. Nothing was happening, but the whore was patient. “Of course, she’ll give me a city then, won’t she? She’ll do it just to put me in my place. Cursed woman…”

The new ships would be named Doreah, Eroeh, and Hazzea – named for three dead peasants Dany had known and wouldn’t shut up about. One was her handmaiden, who had taught her how to please a man (and well obviously), and had died of the plague. Another was a Dothraki prisoner her husband’s men had used and thrown away, and the last was a child burnt to a crisp by Drogon, the fiercest of her dragons. Their deaths had made an impression on her deeper than the deaths of Victarion’s three wives had made on him. Lately, Victarion had begun to think there was something abnormal about her obsession with women and children.

“I’m not blind to it,” Victarion said to the whore, still patiently stroking his unresponsive cock. “Some may be, but I won’t be fooled by her sweetness. If I can’t make her mind, I will give her to the Drowned God…”

The whore raised an eyebrow, interested. “You would kill her?”

“If I must, for the sake of her subjects…” He paused, staring past the woman’s head to the candle that burned beside her bed. “She’ll go mad…surely. And set the world afire.”

“It is said that Targaryens are always at the edge of madness,” the woman said.

“And greatness…and there can be only two sides to a coin, and nothing between those sides.” The whore looked confused as Victarion continued. “How does a mere woman – be she a queen or no – but then a queen most of all! Queens and ladies…their nature is delicate. Fragile. Damn this headache!”

“I have something that might help…” The whore rose and went to a cupboard at the opposite side of the room. Victarion watched her prepare something, still naked as a newborn.

“I killed Betha…yes. For honor’s sake, I had to do it. But to spare her as well. From memory.”

The woman stopped momentarily at Victarion’s confession and looked briefly over her shoulder. Seconds later, she shrugged and continued crushing pinches of dried herbs into a bowl. She poured water from a jug into a kettle and hung that over the fire in her hearth.

“How does a queen…a dreadful puny one at that. Don’t let her veneer fool you. Tender she is. Gentle. Too gentle,” Victarion was saying as the woman stoked the fire, still naked and seemingly without concern for flying sparks. “I’ve seen her abed with the little Naathi, cuddling her like a mother with her babe. I’ve seen her scoop up her little Yunkish hostage when he’d taken a spill and scraped his knee, and kiss him right on the torn flesh with her own lips. Now if that had been my mother….ha! She’d give me something to cry over all right.”

“That’s sweet,” the woman said between monitoring both his cock and the kettle.

“How does such a woman…a girl really. How does she endure the lash? A child’s death? And rape besides?”

“I handled it well enough,” the woman said, her face glowing in the firelight. “So has many a woman I know…”

“The stink of death and betrayal have followed her everywhere. Surely comes a point when a lady loses too much!”

“Perhaps she is callous. Perhaps the tenderness is playacting…a ploy to get her way?”

“Perhaps…then she is a mummer of the highest skill. She might have performed so when her brother died of molten gold poured over his head, cooking his face like a tater. But she claims she shed no tears for him…”

“Did you weep much for your dead brothers?”

“No…I’m a _man_ , whore. She does say his smile haunts her….bah. She must go mad. Or she is evil…and this world will weep for it…”

The whore poured hot water into the bowl and stirred briskly with a whisk made of reeds. “I don’t think she is evil. The Volantenes call her a savior. The fire worshipers say she is Azor Ahai returned. Then again, those dragons of hers…”

“The sorcerers have twisted my brother’s mind, so her contact with bloodmagic surely would have twisted hers…visions she has been shown, and she has danced with dark spirits when her savage husband lay dying…she said so…the Others take my head for this pain!”

“I’m told the Targaryens _are_ magic…and perhaps your brother was always twisted and evil,” the woman said. She placed a thin cloth over an empty cup, then poured the mixture through the cloth to strain it.

“Perhaps my Queen has always been evil…I won’t be blind to it! I won’t!”

The woman brought the cup over, and Victarion drank it down, scowling at the taste. She knelt before him again, and placed the end of his cock in her mouth. Nothing. She made no comment but paused for a moment, tilting her head.

“She has slaughtered her enemies most brutally, it’s true,” said the whore thoughtfully. “She burned their estates, crucified them. Wherever she has gone, she has laid waste to the domain of evil men. Perhaps she might have negotiated with these slavers peacefully…these Sons of the Harpy…rather than killing them outright.”

She met Victarion’s eyes as he pondered what she said, then both of them broke into hysterical laughter, doubling over with guffaws.

“Negotiated with them!” Victarion spat, laughing harder.

“ _Peacefully!”_ The whore was rolling around on the floor.

When he finally caught his breath, his head felt much better, and he decided that the laugh the woman had given him was alone worth the coin.

[1] _The Witcher_ , CD Projekt Red, Atari, 2007. (Based on novels by Andrzej Sapkowski.)

[2] Visigoth, “Warrior Queen,” _Conqueror’s Oath_ , Metal Blade Records, 2018.

[3] _Holy Bible._ _The_ _Book of Jonah_ , 1-17.

[4] Weiner, Matthew. _Mad Men_ , Season 7, Episode 5: “The Runaways,” AMC, 2014.

[5] Benioff & Weiss. _Game of Thrones_ , Season 8, Episode 6: “The Iron Throne,” HBO, 2019.

[6] Prayers come from George R. R. Martin, _A Storm of Swords._

[7] Coen, Ethan and Joel. _The Big Lebowski_ , Polygram, 1998.

[8] Lamb. _Lamb_ , “Gorecki,” Mercury Records, 1996.

[9] Scorsese, Martin. _Taxi Driver_ , Columbia, 1976.

[10] Scorsese, Martin. _Cape Fear_ , Amblin Entertainment, 1991.

[11] Benioff & Weiss. _Game of Thrones_ , Season 7, Episode 1: “Dragonstone,” HBO, 2017.


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